


Star Boy (DISCONTINUED)

by orphan_account



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Transphobia, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, character and setup wise it's pretty much movie canon, it's really fucking similar to stranger things but it isn't a crossover, the word transsexual is used period-typically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Stanley Uris finds a homeless boy rummaging around in his work barely after closing hours, he doesn’t expect to befriend him. He especially doesn’t expect to harbour him, and he REALLY doesn’t expect to introduce him to his friends. The most surprising thing of it all is that the boy is the missing piece that they needed to finally dig deeper into the case of Melissa Anchor’s death.





	1. The Beginning

**_December Seventh, 1986._**

_   “There have been multiple reports tonight of a man in a blue suit going around and looking into people’s windows. There have been no direct confrontations yet, but the suspect is believed to be a white male in his early-to-mid-thirties, about six feet tall, and bald. Police advise that if you see this man, do not panic. Close your curtains and go to another level, if you have one. Again, do _ not  _ engage with this man. We do not know if he has a weapon or what his intent is.”  _

__ The Uris Residence is quiet. Donald Uris is sat on the LA-Z-Boy, remote in one hand and a Malt Star in the other. His wife, Andrea, is in the kitchen. She’s adjusting a ceramic chicken as she waits for water to boil, and she’s tempted to go out and ask Donald for help, but she doesn’t. Donald’s son, Stanley Uris (known by “Stuttering Bill” Denbrough as Stan The Man), is sitting on the couch, watching the TV closely. “That’s crazy,” he says quietly. He’s twelve years old with curly hair and wide eyes. “Do you think he’s a killer?”

  “What?” Donald laughs and he shakes his head. “No, Stanley, I don’t. I think he’s some oversized teenager trying to scare kids.”

  “The lady said he was bald –”

_ “We have an update! We have an update, folks, and it’s a big one. There has been a 911 call about someone with a gun who matches his description at a general store. Our sources say –”  _ There’s a loud noise, and a scream, and suddenly Donald’s hand is over Stanley’s eyes and Andrea is slamming the power button on the television. 

**_October Third, 1989_ **

__ It had been almost three years since Melissa Anchor had been killed on live TV. No one had been allowed out past six – which was still cutting it, for most houses – for three months. Stanley hadn’t figured out what had happened until he heard older kids talking about it at the store. It was some of the high schoolers, which scared him, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to them. Then, nearly three years later, Stanley  _ was  _ one of the older kids talking about it. “You know,” he said, picking at the crust on his sandwich, “I saw it happen.”

  “We all did,” Bill Denbrough mumbled. “Well, I – I  _ heard  _ it. The T – Tuh – T –”

  “I know,” Stanley said. “My dad covered my ears and my mom turned the TV off, but I still saw it. It was weird. She didn’t really move or even bleed that much.”

  “Stan, you s – suh – saw it for a split s – second.” 

  “What did Stan see for a split second?” Eddie Kaspbrak swung his leg over the bench and set his lunchbox (It was embarrassing, but it had Superman on it, and it was one of the coolest things his mom had gotten him in middle school.) on the table. 

  “When the h – h – hot lady on the n – news got sh – sh – sh –”

_ “Hot?”  _ Stan scoffed. He shook his head and set his sandwich down to rub his hands over his face. “Bill, we were  _ twelve.  _ How the hell did you think she was hot?”

  Bill shrugged and grabbed one of Eddie’s potato chips, ignoring Eddie’s protest. “Dunno. Sh – Shit, Stan, are you guh – going to the st – st – store later?”

  Stan frowned and nodded slowly. “Yeah… why? I have to get my paycheck. I might pick up a shift tonight, if Danny isn’t working. You wanna visit?”

  “No, I…” Bill’s ears went red and he looked at his lap. “I need a f – favour.”

  “Bill, I’m  _ not  _ setting you up with L –”

_ “Please,  _ Stan, j – just one –”

  “Guys?” Eddie said quietly. His eyes were trained on the cop cars parked outside of the school. There were at least a dozen, and there was a van with  _ something  _ written on it, Eddie couldn’t tell. Eddie Kaspbrak was a short boy of barely five feet and three inches with a mother whose maternal instincts caused her medical knowledge that rivalled doctors’. It had actually been the death of Eddie’s father that onset the malicious  _ “Take your pills, Eddie! Eeeeeeeeddiiiiieeeeeeee, did you take your piiiiiiiiills? Eddiebear, you need your pills!”  _ that she cooed at him daily. Sonia Kaspbrak was a somewhat tall, very overweight woman with nothing to lose other than her son. 

  No one really knew  _ why  _ she had gone apeshit with the insisting of the pills and the shrill,  _ “EEEDDIIIIEEEE!”  _ that she’d drawl so often. They all assumed it had to do with Eddie’s father and the cancer, but there was something else lying under the surface. No one wanted to scratch it. Her paranoia, of course, transferred to Eddie, who now refuses to drink after Stan because his mother told him,  _ “He’s queer and could have AIDS, baby!”  _ It stung. It stung a lot, because Eddie didn’t want to cast that sort of light on his friend, but he didn’t want to chance AIDS.

  Eddie had asthma. Well,  _ kind of.  _ He thought he had asthma, and so did his mother and friends, but his inhaler – HydrOx Mist – was cheap to make and cheap to buy and bullshit. It was, as the name suggested, just a mix of hydrogen and oxygen. There was some camphor added for flavour, too, but that was it. He wasn’t being served  _ medicine,  _ he was being served tap water. 

  Eddie’s gaze moved back to his friends, who were staring at the cars, too. “What do you think’s going on?” Stan asked, ripping his sandwich crust off entirely. “Did someone get hurt?” He thought back to when there had been a fight last year and the cops showed up.

  “No,” Bill mumbled, “th – they would have c – cuh – called an amb – bu – bu – bulance.”

  Eddie bit his lip and looked up at Bill, the back at the cars. Bill was right, he always was, but Eddie couldn’t come up with anything else.  _ Drug bust?  _ He sighed and turned back, but his head whipped back to the cars yet  _ again  _ when Stan said, “Holy fucking shit…” Jean-Marie, one of the senior teachers, was being dragged out of the school in handcuffs.  _ Jean-Marie?  _ “Dude, I think they were right about her.”

  “What did people say?” Eddie frowned and looked back at Stan for a final time. 

  “Some kid who got onto her computer said she had a locked folder,” Stan said quietly. Bill looked nervous, picking at the skin around his thumb. Eddie couldn’t place what it was, but a certain…  _ atmosphere  _ was surrounding them.

  Bill’s brother had gone missing that summer, and any time anything even alluded to children getting hurt, he got tense. They  _ all  _ did, but it was most noticeable with Bill. “Duh – duh – duh – d –” he clenched his jaw and exhaled angrily. “Do you th – think it was p – puh – p – porn?” his voice was quiet and shaky and didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie. 

  Bill and Eddie usually noticed everything about each other. They’d been friends for  _ years,  _ and over those years, their tics became normal to each other. Bill’s stutter was barely noticed anymore, and Eddie was almost shocked when he heard someone outside of his friend group  _ not  _ stutter. Eddie’s eye twitch whenever the wind blew too hard was something Bill had previously been annoyed by, but he’d gotten used to it over time. Bill’s hands stuttered at much as his throat, and if he needed Eddie to hold or cut something for him, he’d jump on the opportunity to. They were best friends.

  Of course, Stan was  _ also  _ Eddie’s best friend,  _ and  _ Bill’s. He never felt alienated, even when they were having their weird telepathic conversations. He never knew what they were saying, what was going through their minds, or why they couldn’t talk out loud, but he didn’t feel out of the loop. Bill and Eddie had been friends much longer than Bill and Stan had, so he got it. 

  Stan didn’t really  _ need  _ to be close to them – he was decently close to Mike, he talked to Bev sometimes, and Ben and him got along well enough.  _ Sure,  _ he barely talked to anyone because Mike was homeschooled, and Bev was usually out with Ben, and Bill and Eddie had each other, but he was able to third wheel with them. He didn’t really need to, though, no. He had his birds and his coworkers and that was enough. 

  Sure enough, it was confirmed that Jean-Marie had child porn on her computer, and school was dismissed early. Bill begged Stan to set him up with Luna, to which Stan replied with a firm,  _ “No,”  _ and a roll of the eyes. The walk to the gas station was shorter than usual. The cars weren’t rushing on the streets, so he didn’t have to wait to cross the road, and it was only a few blocks down from the school. 

  Stan technically wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to be working, considering he was on the cusp of fifteen, but no one was watching. He had an old enough face and he was tall enough to pass as at  _ least  _ sixteen, so it was fine. He was allowed to sell cigarettes to people, which made a couple people frown, but no one said anything. He needed the money and the experience, so they let it slide.

  The sky got darker earlier than usual. It was a little scary, and the part of Stan’s brain that never quite grew up as fast as the rest of him (the rest of him was much older than it was supposed to be, but his imagination ran wild.) was thinking it could be the end of the world, or that somehow the Commies were going to attack. But then he realised that it was just getting colder and closer to winter, and let it go. Tuesdays weren’t usually busy, so when he saw the parking lot jam packed full of cars, his blood ran cold.

  He pushed the external storage door open and peeked his head in through the internal one. People were crowded at a corner, all of their eyes set on the TV up in it.  _ “Local Derry high school teacher Kassedy Jean-Marie has been confirmed to have been storing child pornography on the computer gifted to her by Derry’s mayor. This goes to show two things. One, anyone can be a predator. And two, perhaps the “information superhighway” is not what we thought it was.” _

__ Stan sighed and he jumped when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He whipped around and was met with Luna’s kind eyes. “Hey, Stan.” Her voice was soft and her eyes were beautiful and Stan was almost convinced she could make him straight. “You okay? You look kind of out of it.”

  “Yeah,” Stan mumbled. “Just… the stuff with Jean-Marie is shitty, you know? My friend had a class with her.” He put his bag down on the floor and rubbed his hands over his face. “Didn’t get much sleep last night, either. I’m thinking about that newswoman from a couple years ago. You remember her?”

  Luna nodded and leaned against the wall. “I was… thirteen? Fourteen? I can’t remember. But I watched it happen, my parents were out.” 

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh, Stan? Some kid came by the other day, I think he was one of your friends?”  _ Oh no.  _ “Stuttering Bill! That’s who it was. Anyway, he came in blushing and, well, stuttering, and he slipped me some sort of paper. I think it’s a phone number, but I can’t tell what it says.”  _ Oh god. Fuck. _

__ Stan sighed and shook his head. “He’s been talking about trying to talk to you for a while now,” he admitted. “I keep telling him I won’t set him up with you. Unless you want me to, of course, then I can’t prevent young love from taking its course. But, I think that’s doubtful, considering you’re –”   
  “I’m queer.” Her “I’m” caught onto the tailend of his “you’re” and it synchronised nicely.  _ Huh.  _ Stan snickered and sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

  “He tried to get with this other girl last year who was a couple years older than us. She was gay, too. It’s funny how many of us there are, considering where we fucking live.” 

  “You’re telling me. Are you even out publicly?”

  Stan shrugged. “I’m not, like,  _ out,  _ but people know. I don’t care if they do or don’t. My friends do. You do. Desiree does.” He thought back to Desiree’s accident and frowned a little. “Is she out of the hospital yet?” 

  Luna’s face fell and her eyes went cold. It was  _ terrifying.  _ Usually her eyes were a warm, inviting blue. They made Stan want to trust her, made him want to tell her secrets. It was dangerous, really. But when she got mad…  _ hoo boy.  _ “No. That son of a bitch isn’t even going to get arrested, either. I think he’s getting the medical bills, but that’s it.”

  Desiree was another one of Stan’s coworkers. She was older than the two of them by a couple of years, and she was fresh out of the surgeon’s office with a full chest and nothing she wanted downstairs. Desiree called herself, after her surgery, a “former transsexual”. It meant nothing to Stan, as he had always seen her as a woman because that’s what she  _ was,  _ but she prided herself on everything she’d gotten done. How far she had come. And, of course, Derry being Derry, someone had to come and fuck it all up for her.

  Derry wasn’t exactly known for being tolerant of anyone who wasn’t white and straight. She was neither of those things – she was a “Proud as hell bisexual, transsexual black woman,” as she called herself, and some people  _ really  _ didn’t like that. So, some asshole took it upon himself to stab her. Stan found it almost ironic, that the majority of Derry’s queer population worked at the same convenience store. It was also the same one where some kid had been found dead a few years prior, but no one talked about it. No one wanted to.

  Stan picked up Danny’s shift and he worked until ten. He closed the store with Luna and neither of them commented on the alcohol on Keith’s breath or the way he stumbled a little as he walked. Because of this, he gave them both five dollars and his blessing to take a snack home with them. Stan settled on some Goldfish (he’d hide them from his father and ignore the sinking pit of guilt in his stomach as he ate them) and a water bottle and he set on his way, a hundred dollar paycheck in his pocket and a Clash song stuck in his head. 

  He hummed quietly as he walked, staying on the inner part of the sidewalk, closer to the lights.  _ Hmm hm hmm hm hmm hm hm hmmmmm…  _ “Should I stay or should I go now?” he whispered, fingers tapping together. “If I go there will be trouble,” he breathed, “and if I stay it will be –  _ shit!”  _ He realised that he forgot his bag at the store, and he turned around to run back. He ran as fast as he could, legs pumping and chest heaving and ears thudding, but if Luna looked inside of it, she would tell his father what he got, and he’d be mad, and – 

  “Hey, Stan! You forgot your bag. Hey, do you mind closing up for me? I really need to get home, my mom –”

  “Yeah,” Stan panted out. He bent over and leaned on the counter, pushing his hair up and out of his face. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Luna smiled and she ran out to her car.  _ I’m gonna be home so fucking late.  _ Stan groaned out loud to the empty store and snatched the keys off of the counter. He heard some rustling, and his head shot up. 

  He saw something moving in the isles, and his heart started racing. Stan grabbed a rubber ball from the small container on the counter and walked slowly over. He raised his arm to throw it, but he was met with wide eyes and he couldn’t do it. It was some kid, maybe his age, maybe younger, with a dirty face and a dirty, hand-me-down, shitty denim jacket that hung off of him three sizes too big.When they made eye contact, neither of them moved. The kid still had his hand on the Doritos bag he was shoving into his jacket, and Stan still had his arm raised. Stan put his arm down and the other kid flinched. His eyes were filled to the brim with fear, and it looked like he was about to bolt. 

  Thunder crashed and he flinched again and dropped a bag. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Stan said slowly. “Give me the bags.” The kid glared a little and stepped back. “I’m not gonna take them, dude, I’m gonna ring them up. C’mon.” He held his hands out and the boy tentatively handed the bags to him. “Can you tell me your name? Do you need me to call someone?” he shot questions off as he rang the chips up. He sighed and cleared the register  _ (Fuck you, technology, I win this round. You don’t even know I didn’t pay.)  _ before turning to the kid again. “Hey,” he snapped, “dude. What’s your name, at least?” 

  He didn’t reply. Stan sighed and held out the bag to him. “Here. I’m Stan.” He frowned when Unknown Kid was trying to open the bag by just pawing at it. He laughed a little and held his hand out again. “May I?” he took it and ripped it open. “There.” He perched up on the counter and stared at Unknown Kid. 

  He was pale.  _ Very  _ pale. And through the dirt, Stan thought he saw the ghosts of some freckles, but he wasn’t sure. “R – R… Ruh… uh… um…” 

  “He speaks,” Stan chuckled. ‘Ruh’ looked at him and sighed a little. “Do you  _ know  _ your name?” ‘Ruh’ shook his head and Stan bit his lip. “Well… Bill, my friend Bill, starts Richard Simmons’ name as ‘Ruh’ so… Richard? No, that’s an old man name.” Stan sighed and the thought  _ you’re naming him like a dog  _ went through his mind. He tried to ignore it. “Richie. Richie?” 

  The kid –  _ Richie,  _ now – smiled a little. He shrugged and shoved some chips into his mouth.

  “Richie,” Stan whispered. He looked outside at the rain and the moon and the stars and thought about what the  _ fuck  _ he had just gotten himself into.


	2. The Cleanup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie learns what a “fucking asshole” is: Eddie.

**_October Third, 1989_ **

**** When Stan got home, he had to sneak Richie in through the basement door. He got home  _ way  _ too late and his hair was damp, but Richie seemed fine. His eyes were wide as he looked around the room, taking it all in. He looked astonished, and Stan would have thought he was an alien or something if he didn’t know better. He went to grab Richie’s wrist, but Richie pulled his hand away quickly. “Okay, okay, sorry. Um…”  _ Was he abused or something?  _ “Follow me.” He led Richie around the corner and opened the door to the bathroom. He took a moment to thank God for giving him a three bathroom house and he walked in.

  When he turned around, Richie was just standing there. He was trembling and wringing his hands together. His eyes were darting around and they finally settled on Stan. “Aren’t you coming in?” Richie frowned and Stan sighed a little, gesturing his hands around and hoping Richie understood what he was trying to get across. Richie shook his head and Stan huffed. “Well, you need to get cleaned up. You look like a fucking mess.”

  “Mess,” Richie whispered. He frowned and looked at his hands, holding them up to Stan. “Mess?”

_ Jesus fucking christ.  _ “Yeah,” Stan snapped. “You’re covered in dirt.” Richie flinched and Stan went soft again. “I’m sorry. Just… get in here, please. I won’t hurt you.” Richie shook his head and Stan huffed once again. “Why? Is it too small, or something? Are you claustroph – are you scared?” Stan had a hard time choosing his words, trying to limit it to ones he assumed Richie would know.  _ He has the vocabulary of a kindergartener.  _

  Richie bit his lip and looked around the room again. He looked back at Stan. “You won’t hurt me?” 

  Stan nodded. “I won’t.” He made eye contact with Richie and the atmosphere changed. He had been a little nervous before – of  _ course  _ he was. He had some homeless kid he’d never seen before in his life sitting in front of him in his basement. He found him trying to  _ steal food  _ with dirt caked on his face and under his nails. But when they made eye contact, the layer of trepidation was removed. He had warm brown eyes, and even with the abundance of fear behind them, all Stan felt was the need to protect Richie. 

  Richie walked in slowly and Stan got him sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He grabbed a washcloth and ran warm water over it. He sat across from Richie, leaning forward with the cloth in hand. “I need to touch you,” he said quietly, “is that okay? Like this.” He touched the cloth to Richie’s cheek and Richie nodded. He closed his eyes, and Stan realised he was probably just enjoying the warmth. He slowly cupped Richie’s cheek to stabilise his head. As he gently wiped the dirt off, he let his mind wander.

_ He didn’t know his own name. Did he run away? Where the hell is he from? Is he  _ actually  _ an alien?  _ He thought about the things he’d heard about Boston. There had been rumours of experiments on aliens in some government lab, but that was bogus. It would be all in the papers, if that was the case, and the  _ Times  _ hadn’t said anything, so… Stan’s mind went back to Jean-Marie. The pictures had to have come from  _ somewhere,  _ and Stan had assumed they were from some random country overseas. He didn’t think about the possibility of it being local past the worries of Bill and Georgie. 

  Stan’s stomach dropped.  _ Did someone hurt him? Is he… one of the kids?  _ He jumped when he felt something cold on his face. He flinched back and Richie blinked, keeping his hand in the air. Stan took a moment to look over Richie. He looked older without the dirt on his face, a lot older. Stan smiled a little and he took his hand down. “Better,” he said. “Do you…” he hesitated before continuing. “Do you know what a shower is?”

  Richie laughed. It wasn’t a normal laugh, but it made Stan happy to know that Richie hadn’t been miserable his  _ whole  _ life. When he calmed down, he sighed a little and nodded. He looked into the bathtub and pointed to it. “Clean.” 

  Stan raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I mean, you’re not  _ wrong.  _ But no, that,” he pointed to the showerhead, “that’s a shower. It’s like a bath, but the water keeps coming and you stand up. Like this.” He swung his leg over the side and stood up, making hair washing movements. “Like this. Think you can do that?” Richie nodded slowly and slipped his jacket off. Stan started to protest when he was taking his shirt off, but he saw bruises on Richie’s side and he got the glimpse of something on Richie’s back, but Richie turned around before he could look at it properly.

  “Alone?” he asked softly. He looked nervous, and he wouldn’t make eye contact with Stan.

  “Yeah… yeah, sorry. Wait, wait, here,” he held his hand up and rushed out. He rummaged through the storage closet and pulled out one of his dad’s old shirts and a pair of pyjama pants. “Change into these when you’re done. There’s towels under the sink.” When he turned to leave and close the door, Richie grabbed his wrist. 

  “Stan.” He struggled to find words, and he looked angrier with himself by the second. After nearly a minute, he settled on, “Scared.”

  Stan bit his lip and he looked at Richie’s hand, then into his eyes. “I’ll keep the door cracked, but I can’t stay in here with you. It’s… it’s a thing. Privacy, see?”

  Richie nodded slowly and let go of Stan’s wrist. Stan closed the door slowly, but left a wide enough crack for Richie to be comfortable. He sat on the couch and rubbed his hands over his face.  _ I need to tell Bill.  _ He sighed and walked over to the phone on the wall, debating whether or not Bill would even be  _ awake.  _ He pulled in Bill’s number and stood against the wall.  _ Once… twice…  _ “H – hullo?”

  “Bill, I n –”

  “Stanley, it’s n – nearly m – mi – midnight. What do you whuh – want?”

  “Is it? Jesus… well, I need you to come over tomorrow. And Eddie, too. I’ll call Mike and talk to Ben in third period, but can you ask Beverly? I have something you all need to see.” Stan bit his lip and looked at his feet. “It’s important.”

  Bill sighed and Stan heard some shuffling. “Yeah… yeah, okay. Sure. G – Go to sleep, Stan. Lord nuh – nuh – knows you need it.”

  Stan nodded. “You, too. ’Night, Bill.”

  “’Night, Stan.” Bill hung up first and anxiety spread through Stan. He started thinking about Bill and Georgie, and  _ what if Georgie’s where Richie was?  _ His thoughts were interrupted when Richie coughed. He jumped and looked over at him. Richie definitely looked older and less sad, and his hair was longer than Stan would have thought originally. He stood taller and he was even paler than before. He was, and Stan hated to admit it,  _ very  _ fucking attractive. Even if he barely knew english and was probably an alien. 

  Richie held out his clothes and Stan blinked at him stupidly before snapping back into reality and grabbing them. “You can, um…” he looked around and looked at the couch.  _ It’ll have to do.  _ “You can sleep on the couch. My parents never come down here, so, um.” He blanked and nodded. “Yeah! I have to go to sleep, because I have school tomorrow, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.” He shoved the clothes into his bag and went to turn the light off. 

  “No!” Richie choked out. He curled back into himself and Stan frowned.

  “Here, I’ll…” he hummed before walking over to the closet again. An old, brown box neatly labelled  _ Stanley  _ sat in the middle with his old baby things. He rummaged through it and clicked his tongue when he found what he was looking for. He closed it back up, folding the side in… then out… then in… and he closed the door. He plugged the small lamp into the wall and set it on the floor. “Now,” he said, flipping the lightswitch off, “it isn’t so dark. Is this okay?” Richie nodded and Stan set on his journey upstairs. 

**_October Fourth, 1989_ **

**** They all decided to meet out at Mike’s house. It was a surprisingly warm day, for October, and Stan had to go through his closet to find clothes that would fit Richie. He decided on a couple of things that Richie could choose from, and he told his mother he was going to work on getting the basement better suited for sleepovers. She didn’t question it. He brought the clothes down (“See? I told you I’d come back.”) and set them out on the other loveseat. “Okay, so we got some… some button ups, and some… some other button ups…” Richie grabbed a white shirt, gripping it as if he was trying to get a feel for the fabric. 

  He pulled a blue button up out of the pile as well, and turned to Stan. “Is this okay?” 

  “Well, you need  _ pants,  _ Richie. Here.” He handed Richie a pair of ugly brown jeans. “These should work. Go change in the bathroom.” When Richie disappeared, Stan took the liberty of folding all of the clothes again. He sighed shakily and looked at the clock.  _ I have thirty minutes to get to Mike’s.  _ He tried to think about how he’d word how he met Richie to the others. He  _ could  _ just tell them the truth, that he was rummaging around in the store, but then he’d have to admit why he went back and why it was so important that he did and then they’d –  _ no.  _ They wouldn’t tell his father, and he  _ knew  _ they wouldn’t. 

  He looked up to see Richie in the outfit, but there was something off. He couldn’t tell what it was until he looked at Richie’s head. Richie was wearing a hat Stan had  _ not  _ given him, and it was tied a couple inches under his chin. His curls were poking out from it, and it made Stanley’s heart warm, even if it was a  _ stupid  _ hat. “Where, uh… where’d you find that?”

  Richie frowned and pulled at the outer shirt a little. “Um. Under… this.” Stan nodded and sighed.

  “Okay, uh. That actually might make things a little easier. We’re gonna ride my bike to my friend’s house and you’re gonna meet them. They’re gonna help me figure out –”

  “No.”   
  “Richie, I can’t keep you in my basement forever. We need to get you s –”

_ “No,”  _ he insisted. He grabbed Stan’s hands and gripped them tightly. His skin was cold, colder than Stan would have thought, and  _ something  _ ran through Stan. He was overcome with fear, a sense of complete and utter terror washing over him. His eyes welled up with tears unwillingly and everything felt so fucking  _ intense.  _ He was upset and he was scared and he  _ didn’t know why.  _ He felt like someone was chasing him, like he was being watched at every angle, even though he knew he wasn’t. When Richie let go of his hands, it stopped. Tears were still streaming down his cheeks, and he  _ was  _ scared from what had happened, but it wasn’t as intense as it had been. “No,” Richie repeated quietly. 

  Stan frowned, but then it clicked.  _ He’s in danger.  _ He nodded slowly. “I still think you should meet them. I’ll make them promise to not tell anyone. They’ll keep it. But you need to meet them sooner or later, if you’re staying for a while. They come over a lot.” Richie looked at his feet and scuffed them against the floor. He took a deep breath, then looked up at Stan and nodded. 

  When they arrived at Mike’s, Richie was shaking. There was a goat that wouldn’t leave him alone, and he was still shaken up from Stan’s bike. He hadn’t been on one before, which Stan thought was the weirdest thing about the whole day (excluding whatever the  _ fuck  _ Richie had done to him at his house). They walked down Mike’s pathway, and Richie kept close to Stan. When they walked up to the group, Eddie immediately berated Stan. “What the fuck is this?  _ Who  _ the fuck is this? What the fuck is he wearing?”

  “Calm down,” Stan snapped. Richie inched closer to Stan. “He’s a friend.”

  “Shocking,” Eddie snickered. He looked Richie up and down, crossing his arms over his chest. “The fuck’s he wearin’ a hat for?”

  “Because he  _ can,  _ Eddie. Leave him alone.”

  “It looks fucking stupid.”

  “Who pissed in your Cheerios, Kaspbrak?”

  Eddie huffed and mumbled something to Mike. Mike shook his head and smiled at Richie. “Hi,” he said softly. “I’m Mike.” Mike Hanlon was an interesting character. Out of the Losers, he was the one Stan was probably closest to. He was homeschooled, but he hadn’t been forever, and he was probably the nicest of the Losers, next to Ben. Mike had always been nice to Stan, even on bad days. If Mike was upset or angry and they were hanging out, he’d never snap. He’d snapped at Eddie before, but never at Stan. 

  Beverly marched up to Richie and looked him up and down. She brought her hand up to smack the hat back so it was hanging off on the back of his neck instead of atop his head. He frowned and looked at her, but didn’t move. She grinned and nodded. “He’s cool.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “He has all of his teeth and his eyes aren’t bugging out too bad.” Beverly ruffled his hair and he jumped back. “Jeez, jumpy much? What’s your name, man?”

  Richie looked at Stan and panicked a little. He pressed his hand against Stan’s and Stan cut in for him. “Richie.”

  “Can he not –”

  “Will you sh – shut the f – fuh –  _ fuck  _ up?” Bill snapped. Eddie raised his hands and took a step back. “Richie, I’m Bill. That’s B – Ben, that’s Buh – Buh – Beverly, and th – the fucking a – ah – asshole is Eddie.” Eddie flipped him off and Bill sighed. “It’s n – nice to m – me – m – meet you.” Richie looked up at Stan, then back at Bill, and nodded. 

  After Eddie finally shut the fuck up, they made their way to Mike’s house and up to his room. “Did you hear about what happened a couple days ago?” Ben asked once they were all settled in. “There were some lights in the sky, or something. Auntie thinks it’s aliens.” Eddie raised his eyebrows and snorted. Bill glared at him and he went quiet again. 

  “Wh – Why didn’t the n – nuh – news cuh – cover it, then?”

  Ben shrugged. “I guess she thinks it’s some sort of government thing. Mom says it’s probably just some military planes being tested.” Richie tensed up as the conversation went on. They mentioned something about tests in Boston and Quebec, and he started shaking. When Eddie stood to go get something to eat and his hand brushed against Richie’s skin, he jumped. He  _ actually  _ jumped from how fucking  _ cold  _ Richie was. He stared at Richie, and Richie stared back. Richie looked nervous, and Eddie’s mind started running rampant. His heart started racing and he rushed out of Mike’s room to stand against the wall. 

  He thought about how  _ cold  _ Richie was and how  _ pale  _ he was, and what Ben had said, and he suddenly needed his inhaler. 

* * *

  Richie squinted off at the distance. Him and Stan were leaving Mike’s, and his eyes were trained on Eddie. “Fucking asshole,” he said quietly. Stan’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Bill said.”

_ “Oh.  _ Yeah, Eddie can be like that sometimes. I think he’s just having a bad day.”

  “What… does it mean?”

  “What?”

  “Fucking asshole,” Richie deadpanned. He looked straight into Stan’s eyes and Stan had to hold back his laughter.

  “Um. Uh,” he let a snicker escape. “He’s, uh.  _ Mean.” _

__ “Fucking asshole,” Richie nodded. Stan chuckled softly and toed the kickstand back up. 

  “Hop on.” Richie pulled his hat back onto his head and slung his leg over Stan’s bike. 

  When they set off, Richie started asking more questions. “Why is Eddie a fucking asshole? Like Bill said. You said… bad day?”

  Stan huffed a little and nodded, keeping most of his attention on the road. “He gets like that a lot.” Stan realised how much more Richie was talking after just one day of being around his friends, and he immediately regretted it.  _ He won’t shut the fuck up when he gets the hang of it. _


End file.
